Against My Will
by yourbrowneyedgirl
Summary: Bella is an unwilling prostitute who has caught the eye of her disillusioned King. Together, can they dare to break the confines of society? Or will tragedy, deceit, and tangled webs leave them more broken than before? All Human, M for mature themes.
1. Smile Like You Mean It

One

_Smile Like You Mean It_

_Save some face, you know you've only got one_

_Change your ways while you're young_

_Boy, one day you'll be a man_

_Oh girl, he'll help you understand_

_Smile like you mean it_

"_Smile Like You Mean It" – The Killers_

.oOo.

Early Spring 2010, Kingdom of Volterra

Victoria Langely was confused.

In all her years as a journalist, prying newscaster, and all around gossip, she had never encountered something so divinely scandalous as this. Sure, there were the almost laughable baby mama clichés, the cheating husband and murdering wife, even the routine, albeit pathetic embezzlement and fraud from prominent political figures that she encountered daily.

What confounded her though, was the woman sitting across from her, primly seated in a wingback armchair, ankles crossed, hands fiddling from anxiousness.

She looked so _innocent_.

Victoria was used to not being surprised. She always knew how to twist a story, make it sell, make it look dreadful. Bad. Dirty. Glamorous, even. There was always a plan forming the back of her mind. She knew what was scandalous in the eyes of the simple public. She knew what made them boil in outrage and hiss in delight. She knew where the proverbial tomatoes were thrown, and where praise was given. She knew what news sold, and what didn't. Nobody in this bloodsucking town was interested in underdogs and burning buildings. No. They wanted words unspoken, deeds not done. They lived for proverbial bloodshed. The dark, twisted underbelly of horrifying truth was what kept them always conscious of their television sets and newspaper subscriptions.

Rows of pristine tile could stretch for miles, and all they saw was the gritty clay that held it together. Victoria wrapped up the grit with a big red bow and sold it to the public for a few Euros.

Victoria could not wrap this sorry excuse for a Queen in a big red bow, unfortunately.

"So, let me get this straight. You knew, then, about your husband's affair?"

"Yes."

This was like pulling teeth. Clipped, one word answers were all she had been given, and just now, finally, she was getting to the _good stuff_. The Queen was set to end the interview in less than thirty, and so far, Victoria had not gotten the answers she wanted.

Fearing she came off as uncouth and brash, she tried a different approach. She could play the part of humility, couldn't she?

"Your highness-"

"Please, Ms. Langely, call me Bella."

"With all due respect, ma'am, it is forbidden-"

"I am Queen, am I not, loathsome title as it is?"

Victoria ducked her head in respect. "Yes."

"You pay your tributes to me, and you bow to me when society dictates. Moreover, you have sworn me your loyalty, have you not?"

Victoria decided it was useless to argue with this pauper-turned-princess.

"Of course."

"Then, Ms. Langely, I command you to address me as Bella."

"Yes, M- Bella."

The Queen looked relieved. "Now, what were you asking?"

Victoria sharpened her claws. "With all due respect, what kind of a woman…" she swallowed hard, her head could very well get cut off for this. "What woman, _tells_ her husband to have an affair, with one of the most loathsome creatures ever to walk this earth? He has stained your reputation, gallivanting about with a, a _whore_."

Victoria did not dare breathe. But the lady in question behaved as if she had merely made a callous remark about the weather, not brought up a topic so wicked that it was not spoken of in the most liberating social circles. And, she actually smiled.

"You do not waste time with idle chatter, do you?"

"Ma'am, I apologize, forgive me."

The Queen laughed. Her voice was like a chorus of tinkling bells. Bells, like her name, Bella. Beautiful. How fitting.

"You amuse me, Miss Langely. Did you know, I was one of those- what did you call them? Oh, _whores_, once."

Victoria gaped. The Queen laughed again- Victoria's open mouth made her resemble a codfish.

Victoria was glad she had taken the time to watch the sun rise this morning. It was going to be her last- on this earth. She was not going to come out of this interview alive.

"Yes, yes I was. Don't be so surprised, Ms. Langely. You are with my husband often. How else do you think Edward took up with someone so common? He only ventures out to the… _low_ places. Establishments not befitting his title, you see. But what were you asking me? Yes, about Tanya."

_You're in charge_, Victoria tells herself, _You ask the questions, you direct the flow of conversation._

_And you find out all the juicy details before your hour and twenty is up._

"I have been painted as a callous wench by my own subjects. I have been told I am cruel, heartless, and brazen. I have been told that I am an unfit mother to my son, and have failed our King as a wife. There is a saying, Ms. Langely, that sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Such is not the case, as I've often found; but that does not matter. I _wanted_ him to love someone else, Ms. Langely. I _needed_ someone else to share his bed…

I just wanted him to leave me _alone_."

And then the Queen burst into tears, astonished at her own admission.

Victoria's pen, which had been poised to take copious notes, fell to the floor in an unholy clatter.

.oOo.

_-Two years earlier-_

March 2008, Kingdom of Volterra

"Ach, Swannie, you'll be the death of me," the portly, red faced landlady fumed, "I told ye, you'll earn your keep one way or another, be it in a respec'able location, or somethin' less pleasin' to the female race. We do what we can, missy, and ye'll do what ye can, with that pretty face, or ye'll be out on yer arse. Hear me girl?"

"I hear you," the girl stated primly, her head thrown back in defiance, wild glossy chocolate colored curls cascading down her back. "But I'll have you know, that I went to Harvard, and I will not be subjected to becoming a prostitute."

The coarse woman interrupted her with a cackle. "'Arvard don't mean nothin' here, lass. And it certin'ly don't mean nothin' to me. Now, Ange's laid out a dress on yer bed. Make yourself pretty, love. The King likes brunettes, 'specially the new ones. Ya look like a lady, mebbe the King'll take a shine to ye. Ye'd be right fortunate to have that, yes ye would."

Fortunate to have a filthy man's hands all over her body? Bella didn't think so.

She stomped up the rickety stairs, clinging to the worn railing when the wood buckled under her slight weight. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the top, thankful that the stairs hadn't collapsed today. Lady Cope could not be bothered with fixing old, rotting, creaking staircases.

"Do I look like a woodworker to ya?" She had sneered, when Bella had approached her about fixing them.

She quietly made her way through the narrow hallway, trying to squeeze past a gossipy twosome or loud foursome. She managed not to trip over the various items that were lying about- a shoe here, scraps of lace there…was that a sandwich?

The girls hardly ever cleaned up after themselves. What was the point? Anything thrown in the hallway was fair game. Expensive lingerie and Christian Louboutins were safely kept under lock and key in the dormitories by their respective owners. The girls were supposed to provide their own outfits, décor, and makeup.

Bella, having no money to purchase anything, let alone fancy undergarments, made do with the hallway castoffs, and the other girls' generosity. It was one of Lauren's knockoff Dior gowns she was borrowing tonight.

She wasn't going to stay this way forever.

She couldn't.

The dress on the bed was shameful. Red satin, backless, neckline plunging down to her stomach. The dress was ruched on one side, all the way up to her mid-thigh, with the rest of the sordid material trailing behind her. The shoes would be the death of her, same shimmery red, with four inch heels. A clumsy woman as herself was doomed to end up on her face before the night was over.

Her breasts, which were not something to write home about, were given new life and light, in this…thing. Bella loosely pinned up her curls, but still let them flow down her back in rich waves. Her makeup was overdone, she knew, but Angela would kill her if she wiped even some of it off. When Bella dared to look in the mirror, she didn't even recognize her own face. Someone wanting a specific something, stared back at her, brown eyes dull with the wearisome trials of life. Her ivory skin dared to glint in the moonlight, borrowed lotion giving her an ethereal, if not somewhat unrealistic look.

"God, Swan, would it kill you to hurry up?" A simpering voice whined through the locked door.

"Almost done Jess," she called softly, giving her reflection one last scathing glance before sliding the deadbolt.

Jessica Stanley rushed in quickly, eager to get a primp in the shared mirror before she was due downstairs. Bella suddenly felt overdressed watching Jessica, who was arrayed in a set of ice blue lace, with shoes and garter to match and nothing else. Jessica was mountains of fluffed hair and soft skin. She apparently was a popular favorite among the clientele, never known to say "no". She was old lady Cope's favorite as well, her tips were always the best, and kept the rent paid.

Bella shuddered. This poor woman had sold her soul to the devil, for what?

"This is your first night, isn't it, Isabella?"

Bella nodded, eyes downcast in shame.

Jessica adjusted her fake breasts in the mirror. "Tonight is special. King Edward visits _every _Friday."

Bella looked startled by this. "Th- the King comes here? To this place?"

Jessica frowned at Bella in the reflection. "Don't look so shocked little Isabella. He's not wedded, and he has no patience to court a lady or take a mistress. He comes here for the same purpose every man does. Although he is far richer and much more handsome than the others, of course. He has a thing for brunettes, as Cope told you, but I think he's caught on that I dye my hair, which leaves me out of the running. But I have to try, right?"

She smiled sadly at Bella, but no sympathy coursed through Bella's being. She felt sorry, of course, that her new comrade was forced to live as a prostitute, stringing along dreams of the title 'Queen' preceding her name. Jessica was rather pathetic.

Bella herself had no interest in a King who made his shameful indecency known. What a rich, arrogant pig.

"He was _this_ close to inviting me to the palace once, a few months ago, I know he was…"

Bella left Jessica to drown in her dreaming.

.oOo.

King Edward slammed the door to his Aston, not caring if the delicate window glass shattered. He was not in a good mood, and sadly, he knew just how to make it better, if only for a little while. He beeped the lock, not satisfied that the miscreants of the neighborhood would leave his things alone.

The brothel he had set out to visit was in deplorable condition. Half of the glass in the windows had been shattered, and the peeling paint served to make the building look ages old. There were no neon signs, no crude language graffitied upon the outside. Cope's House was a well kept secret, but it was no secret that the King frequented the business often.

He was a bit of an unattentive womanizer, and to avoid scandalous public displays, he did not keep a woman, or even pretend to date someone.

A woman was a woman.

But a pretty face, that was harder to come by.

The air was damp around him; it was going to rain soon. The bleak outdoors suited his mood perfectly. He tucked the collar of his jacket more securely around his neck, fruitlessly trying to fight off the chill that had suddenly invaded his body. The call house was not in the best part of town, and he hoped his bodyguard was already inside, trusty Glock residing in his vest. He was not in the mood for a hospital trip tonight.

His new campaign was not going well, and many men would kill to have his head on a platter.

He just couldn't do anything right anymore, and he didn't know why. He was no longer the energized, hopeful youth who had sworn to protect and rule over his country seven years prior. Somewhere along the way, between the death of his mother and the loss of the war, he had become a shadow of himself – a despicable man with a penchant for prostitutes and strong alcohol. He had torn down the church with his own two hands, and the executioner had never had so much business.

He was glad his mother was gone; if his mother saw him like this…

She would be devastated.

He hated himself, and nothing made the pain he felt every day depart from him.

"Vodka," he snapped to the bartender once he had been ushered inside the dimly lit building. The bartender, knowing him well, not only handed over the bottle, but a glass of ice as well. Edward did not thank him, or even acknowledge his thoughtfulness. He stomped over to the front row, accidently pushing down a maid in his haste.

He didn't notice her angry squeal when the alcohol made contact with her clothing, a silk bustier that had cost her eight months' wages to procure.

He never noticed anything anymore.

He had heard, by word of mouth, that Lady Cope had added to her collection of girls the fortnight before, and that the latest gem in her jewel box was ready for her début.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't have cared.

But James had said she had the face of an angel, and Edward was more than ready for a fresh girl,- one that did not have an unattractive face, preferably.

He sat down gingerly in one of the more comfortable seats, cringing at the thought that they probably hadn't been cleaned since his last visit. He made it a point to have a servant wash his jacket,- or possibly just burn it. He looked about, as he waited, taking in the same lavish décor that had always been there. He appreciated the tastefulness of it all, if a place such as this could be tasteful.

There were no stainless steel poles, no topless women begging his attention, and nothing was hot pink in color. Rich reds and lavenders counteracted the golden tones of the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. The tables set about for drinks were made of mahogany, no doubt donated by an appreciative patron like himself. The glossy floors had been drenched with more blood and bodily fluids than a fighter's ring, but tonight they shown pristine. Everyone there was dressed smartly. this was a gentleman's club, after all. Already, men had begun to light their expensive Cuban cigars and cheap cigarettes, easing their anxious minds and muting thoughts of the hardworking women they had left at home.

Their women just weren't enough anymore. No wife could understand her man's pain.

Half of the men were soldiers in Edward's army, and somewhat proudly wore their regimented uniforms, silently declaring their devotion to 'the cause.' Their haggard faces masked their young ages, and many of them were probably too young to be standing about sharing flasks.

The bouncer, if he could be called that, for rarely was anyone denied entrance, appreciated bribe monies and bottles of wine, no matter how young the giver was.

Cope came to the King, giving her usual wobbly curtsey and flirtatious smile. He answered her dull questions with monosyllabic phrases, wishing she would just leave him the hell alone.

The woman was close to fifty, and married although, that was not scared in anyone's eyes anymore.

He was King. He was in charge, damnit. And all he wanted to do was pretend that for one night, he didn't have any responsibility.

She eventually took the hint, not wishing to dare offend her best patron and ruler. She couldn't make any money off her girls if she was dead.

The lights dimmed even further, signaling that the tawdriness was about to begin. Edward uncorked the bottle, and poured his first drink of many.

"Marcus," he said lowly to the man who had sat down next to him, thrusting the glass into his hands. The rough country man was actually a cleverly disguised bodyguard. Marcus knew the drill well, he proceeded to sip, ensuring that the rich, clouding liquid had not been tainted with poisons or drugs that would impair his King physically, or worse, cost him his life.

When the man did not die or show signs of distress after a few minutes, Edward took back his glass, and refilled it, settling in to watch the show.

The bodyguard rubbed his hands together in anticipation. If his King got good and drunk tonight, he would pass out in the wee hours of the morning and not wake until it had become dark again, leaving him free to visit his lady who worked in the scullery.

King Edward of Volterra did not allow fraternization between unequal classes, such as his personal bodyguard and kitchen maid, even though he himself frequented Cope's whorehouse regularly.

As King, he was above such trivial rules.

Slow, sultry music began to play, and one by one, the scantily clad girls danced out, each inwardly praying to catch the King's eye tonight.

They didn't.

It was the piece de resistance that captured his intentions. He sat on the edge of his seat, glass dangling precariously from his fingertips in anticipation. He scanned the pouting figures attentively, checklisting familiar faces, making sure he hadn't missed her.

Lady Cope, if she could even be called that, made sure too.

"'ere ya are, Isa. Now let me 'ave a look at ya, before ya go." She fussed with Bella's hair and dress for a minute, plucking and pulling, making sure that all her assets were on display.

The woman was in desperate need of a new oven.

Lady Cope took sixty percent of the tips the girls earned, claiming half for room and board, and the other half to fund her perceived lavish lifestyle.

The King tended to be generous when he was pleased.

"There," she breathed, when she was done, steeping back to admire her handiwork. She had mussed Bella's hair, and pulled her dress higher and lower in respective places, making sure as much skin was displayed as possible. "Now go ou' t'ere, chick, and fer the love of God, doan' fall on yer face."

Bella froze, timidly looking out towards her audience. She had been told the King always sat in the front, and that his copper colored hair and bottle of alcohol were impossible to miss.

She couldn't see him in the dark, with the haze of smoke and dim lighting clouding her vision.

Someone pinched her arm. "Git, girl, yer on."

And with that, Lady Cope pushed her out on the stage, leaving Bella shaking like a lamb in front of ravenous wolves.

.oOo.

**Please say hello to ****liketoread22****, who has graciously agreed to beta this story for me. This chapter looks ten times as better than it was before she made it pretty. **

**Please leave me your thoughts. I would really appreciate it, since this is totally different from my other stories. **

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**Love you guys!!**


	2. Fix You

Two

_Fix You_

* * *

_When you try your best but you don't succeed  
When you get what you want but not what you need  
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep  
Stuck in reverse_

And the tears come streaming down your face  
When you lose something you cannot replace  
When you love someone but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse?

_Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you_

"_Fix You"- Coldplay_

* * *

April 2009, United States

.oOo.

Michael Newton was a good boy.

He was little plain, a little average, and not the best looking boy in town, but still a fine young man. He kept up good grades in school, went to church every Sunday with his mother, was never late for work, and cut the elderly neighbors' grass free of charge. He was known for his helping hands and friendly spirit.

He was never the lost soul who stumbled in after curfew completely intoxicated; rather, he was the friend who offered Advil and glasses of water the next nauseating morning. He was the gentleman who courted his ladies, holding doors open and pulling out chairs. He was a volunteer firefighter, who put out literal fires as well as the proverbial, and cleaned up the children's park the first Saturday of the month. He was the best man at every wedding; the first to throw rice and last to wave goodbye to the happy couple.

Michael gave of himself, and in turn, was given to by those whose lives he had touched with simple kindness.

Good boys deserved good girls.

But love was the one thing that never found Michael.

You can't force someone to love you. You can't buy someone's affection with roses or poems or moonlight walks. No matter how much you love someone, you can't make them love you.

Michael knew this; the possible sting of rejection always haunted his thoughts and laced his actions. What if all he could give wasn't enough? What if _he_ wasn't enough? What if he was one of those people fated to live life in solitude, without love, wedding bands or children?

He shuddered at the prospect of singlehood. He saw himself as a lonely old man, with long white socks and an old blue bathrobe, sitting at a worn kitchen table without an equally elderly little wife to make him breakfast or repair a tear in his favorite brown sweater.

Fortunately for him, Michael's fears were allayed a week before his twenty-seventh birthday.

.oOo.

"Mike, stop it! I'm serious!"

Bella was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. The blonde haired man didn't stop though, and continued to tickle her until his fiancée was screaming "Uncle! _Uncle_! Michael, I can't _breathe_, baby! I give up already! You _win_!"

"Michael Newton," a voice called through the screen door, "stop harassing pretty Isabella and come help me put this roast on the table."

"Yes Ma," he called back, releasing Bella from his arms. She tumbled onto the smooth green grass, and he couldn't help but stare at her beautiful form.

Her hair looked so _red_ when the sunlight captured it. Every time he looked at her, he felt himself fall a little more in love with her. He had no idea how he had gotten so lucky. This charming, enchanting girl, who had at first intimidated him, agreed to spend the rest of her life with him.

"I'll be right back, baby," he said sweetly, kissing her pouting mouth.

He left his brown eyed angel gasping for breath on the grassy backyard lawn, her face flushed from giggles and torso heaving. He desperately tried to block out images of his Bella in the same state naked in his bed, as he tripped up the stairs.

For her part, Bella lay still in the grass, musing on the beauty of the day and the beauty of her situation. For the first time in a long time, she was loved, adored, cuddled, caressed, kissed, worshiped. She could make an infinite list of all the wonderful things Michael did to her that made her feel like a princess.

And now she was engaged to this beautiful man.

He had proposed in the traditional way, for Michael was a traditional sort of man. There had been roses and candles and lovemaking after she breathlessly gave her acquiescence and jumped into his arms. They were to be married in September, on Bella's birthday. She abhorred that day, loathing gifts and the reminders of her aging, so Michael suggested they replace the occasion by celebrating with a new event, their wedding day.

It was almost magical. Lying here in the soft green grass, the sunlight sparkling off the small lake behind Michael's parents' house, and the sweet breeze blowing on her face, ruffling her sundress and shiny brown hair, she knew that there was no place else she would ever want to be.

"Bella honey, dinner's on," Karen Newton's voice floated over to her.

Bella sighed; having been interrupted from the beginnings of a trifling day dream. Rosy, dimpled little babies who had Michael's hair and her eyes…

Her lazy afternoon spell broken, Bella went inside the small house, brushing grass off of her dress, and scooping up the sandals she had discarded earlier. She carefully picked her way through the gravel patio, determined not to cut her toes on the rough pebbles. She tucked her footwear by the door before going inside; the smell of roasted beef and homemade cherry pie tickling her senses, reminding her of home and her _new_ family.

.oOo.

"This is wonderful, Karen," Bella mumbled though a mouthful of mashed potato, and she peeked up shyly through her lashes to meet Karen's twinkling eyes.

"Honey, please, you're family now. Call me Mom, unless that makes you uncomfortable." Karen blushed at the forwardness of her words and looked down at her plate, hoping she had not offended the young woman.

Young people were so hard to understand these days.

Bella's warm hand covered Karen's frail one. "Of course, _Mom_."

Karen's smiled rivaled the sun. Michael looked between his mother and fiancée, and felt warmth bubble in his stomach. He was forever grateful that his mother had approved of his girl, and had even gone out of her way to befriend Bella, making her feel like her own daughter.

"So Ma, Bella and I were talking outside, and we were thinking about having the wedding in the backyard, since there won't be very many people. What do you think?"

He took Bella's small hand in his, running his thumb over the ring she wore absentmindedly. It was a modest piece of art, well; it had to be, for now. Maybe in a few years, he would have saved enough to place a larger diamond in the setting.

"I think that's a lovely idea, honey. The weather'll be nice, what with the maple leaves and all. Very pretty." Karen was taken back to thoughts of her own wedding, and internally bubbling with excitement that her only son would soon get to experience the joy she had felt when she had taken those vows almost thirty years ago. Her Stanley had been gone almost eight years, _the cancer was so vicious_, she thought sadly, but she could still see the smile on his face just as clearly now as she had back then. She felt a twinge of sadness mix with her joy. Her baby boy, her only baby, would leave her and start his own life soon.

The little house was going to be so empty when he left.

But looking between her son and his true love, she knew that she could deny him no longer. He was so ready, so excited to build a life with his Bella.

Her eyes brimmed with tears just thinking about it. Michael deserved his happiness after all the years he had sacrificed to make other people happy. He had dropped out of college when Stanley died, and took over Newton's Outfitters running it without a hint of complaint or regard for his own future. Michael had dedicated his life to his father's business and his mother's happiness. He worked every day (excluding Sundays, those were family days) to ensure that his mother would have a financially stable future.

Michael's efforts had not been in vain. In fact, if he hadn't been so dedicated to his work, he might not have met Bella.

Ms. Swan had come into Newton's Outfitters to escape the rain one day, and Michael, having sent the rest of the employees home to avoid the storm, was the only one in the shop when she came in, soaking wet and reminiscent of a drowned rat. Michael had procured a slightly musty blanket, and managed to make some hot coffee from the coffeemaker in the break-room. They found themselves falling into an easy conversation, and from then on Bella made it a point to come in to the store, just to talk to the shy young man.

They became fast friends, journeying though what life had thrown their way and making the best of it. Somewhere along the way, they had fallen in love, having found kindred spirits in each other, and now they were engaged to be married.

It just seemed like the logical, _right_ thing to do.

Karen couldn't have been happier and judging by Michael's sparkling eyes and Bella's flushed cheeks, neither were they.

They wouldn't have much, starting out, but Karen knew they'd be alright. They had to be.

She wanted some grandbabies before she got too old to enjoy them.

.oOo.

April 2009, Kingdom of Volterra

"What do you think she's doing right now?" King Edward queried, watching the droplets of rain fall down the window pane. He had been sitting in the library for hours now, staring out the windows and looking at the scenery that surrounded him below.

The library had large glass windows that reached from the polished floor all the way to the cathedral ceilings and let in volumes of sunlight, or in the case of a day like today, dingy gray light that was not even fit to read by. The King's favorite armchair had been moved from in front of the fireplace and had been strategically placed in front of the largest window, giving him ample view of his kingdom.

He had watched the comings and goings of his subjects, even though from this distance, they just looked like tiny specks in the landscape. Tiny sheep and cows dotted the hillside, and if he looked closely, he could see the chicken farms that had been set up in the villages. He saw the various peddlers traversing the dusty roads, going from township to township, selling their cheap wares, which were far overpriced. He watched the schoolchildren scurry from the school houses to their respective homes, wincing when he saw that most of them were barefoot and jacketless, without an umbrella to shield themselves from the pelting, icy rain.

No wonder the government doctors were so busy. There must be widespread outbreaks and influenza and pneumonia in the little villages below. He made a note to send rain boots and parkas in the next shipment, instead of the customary literature and maps of Africa. He then planned to contact the physicians and ask if they needed any special medicines, or simply more of the antibiotics they already had. What good were his gifts if the children he sent them to were too sick to enjoy them?

Bella would have been proud of him for noticing, for taking care of the little children. He knew she would be. His Bella had a soft spot for the less fortunate. How many times had she urged him to restock the many food pantries, to donate the clothing that not even his servants wore?

Too many times.

Alec, the new bodyguard, rocked on his heels anxiously. He was supposed to have been dismissed an hour ago; instead, he was being treated to his King's mindless ramblings and a growling stomach. The King had been rambling on about "his Bella" for quite some time now, and Alec was beginning to find it annoying.

She was gone, and it was time for King Edward to move on.

Quite frankly, a good lay would do him a world of good. But the King refused to frequent the whorehouses now, and claimed he was unable to find another woman to fill his needs, picky bastard that he was. What a waste, Alec thought sadly to himself. Why, if he was in the King's position, with all these women…

"You are dismissed."

The cold tone of the King's voice made him jump, and Alec beat a hasty retreat to the kitchens. He practically knocked over Zafrina, who had been carrying a tray to his Highness with a steaming teapot and accessories. She cursed him loudly in her native tongue for the spilt tea and broken china that could have been, before allowing him to escape the gloomy corridor.

Alec, like the many before him, sought comfort in the golden warmth of the underground kitchens. There was usually an extra serving of soup or cup of coffee that had escaped a scullery maid's notice, and he would gulp the portion down gratefully before resuming his work. Having been dismissed for the rest of the evening, he decided to stay in the comfortable hustle and bustle, devoting himself to pulling apron strings and flashing winning smiles. It had been awhile for him as well.

* * *

Are you thoroughly confused now? :) Next chapter we'll see some Bella/Edward interaction, yes?

Thanks again for all your support. I'm really excited to have this story up here! It's going to be an interesting ride!

Much thanks to LTR for her amazing beta work. Everything looks so much better after she's worked her magic.

If anybody can help me advertise this story, I'd greatly appreciate it. I'm no good with it….

xoxo,

ybeg


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